Experimentation
by Loca Bambina
Summary: A collection of oneshots, all 500 words or less, each focusing on a different pairing and a different random word. At least 20 different pairings, het and slash, will be featured. Added: Cartman/Kyle
1. Spelling KyleBebe

A/N: Here's the basics: each chapter is aoneshot,500 words or less, and focuses on a different South Park pairing. Each chapter is also based around a word from a random word generator. This is more or less an exercise for me (to try to break my extreme writer's block) but I thought it would be nice to see what people had to say anyway.

This is my first time writing around a theme or word, and also my first time limiting the length of the chapter (500 words! Ahh!). Also, I wrote this very late at night, so I apologize if it's completely incomprehensible. If it does make sense, though, please review!

One last thing: I'm planning to cover around 20 different pairings in this story. If you have a favorite pairing, feel free to request a chapter on that pairing! (urgh, I'm getting sick of the word "pairing") The purpose of this is to challenge myself, so I'll accept any challenges you have for me. :) So... yeah! Enjoy the stories!

disclaimer: i don't own south park.

* * *

SPELLING

"We are now entering the final round of the spelling bee," announced Mr. Thomas, surveying his half-asleep fifth grade class. "This round will determine who represents our class in the school bee." He motioned for the spellers to step forward.

"Token, your word is _substantial._"

"Substantial. S-u-b-s-t-a-n-t-i-a-l. Substantial."

"Kyle, your word is _catastrophe._"

"Catastrophe. C-a-t-a-s-t-r-o-p-h-e. Catastrophe."

Bebe Stevens stifled a yawn. The stupid spelling bee had been going on for half an hour. It might have been somewhat entertaining, but she'd gotten out in the first round (_excellent._ How was she supposed to know it was spelled with two l's?) and had been sitting at her desk, b-o-r-e-d out of her mind, for the past 28 minutes.

Her gaze shifted slowly from the fluffy purple sparkle pen on her desk to her friend Wendy, who was still fuming after being eliminated on _neurotic_ in the seventh round, to the clock mounted on the wall and finally back to the front of the room, where Token was struggling through _pulchritudinous_.

"P-u-l-k-r-i-t-o-o-d-i-n-u-s?"

"Incorrect. Kyle? _Pulchritudinous._"

Bebe studied Kyle's face as he took a deep breath. Green eyes, big nose, crooked teeth covered in braces. His unruly red hair poked out from beneath his bright green ushanka; he'd worn it for as long as Bebe could remember, and it was beginning to get a little small.

But if you looked past the nose, the orthodontia, the curls (which weren't really that bad), Kyle was pretty good-looking. He was thin, but not too thin. He had cute dimples that showed whenever he smiled. His eyelashes were long and almost girlish, but it looked okay on Kyle. He had the hottest ass of any boy at South Park Elementary. And he was a great k-i-s-s-e-r.

Bebe sighed. Two years, and she hadn't gotten over that kiss. She remembered the feeling of his soft lips pressed against her own, the amazing feeling of being _connected_ to him… and the way he'd wiped his mouth when it was over. She tried not to think about that part, but it was hard. What did it mean? Did she gross him out? Was the kiss too rushed?

"Kyle, you need to start spelling the word." Kyle's eyes darted around the room.

"Pulchritudinous. Um… can I… have a definition?"  
"Beautiful." Kyle nodded, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and rocked on his heels.

"Kyle, time is running out."

"Pulchritudinous. P-u-l- " His eyes rested on Bebe's. _Kyle, you are beautiful,_ she thought. _You are… pul-kri-tood-in-ous. Or whatever._ She grinned at the redhead. "Pulchritudinous. P-u-l-c-h-r-i-t-u-d-i-n-o-u-s!" _Did he win? _Bebe held her breath as the bell rang and kids flooded out the door, leaving her, Kyle, and Token to await the verdict.

"Congratulations, Kyle, you have won the class spelling bee." Token swore and Kyle flashed his dimples, his pulchritudinous dimples, at Bebe. She blushed.

"Bye," he called as he turned and left the classroom. Bebe stared after him as he walked away. After all, he did have a really nice ass.


	2. Hide KennyButters

HIDE

Butters walked the dog every morning at six.

He didn't think of it as a chore, even though he didn't appreciate having to pick up the icky dog poo. No, it was more of an escape – a way to get out of the house before his parents woke up. By the time he returned home, they had left for work, and he could spend the rest of the day in peace.

As he passed the high school, he sighed. Summer was almost over; he would start freshman year in a week. His mom had taken him back-to-school shopping in July and picked out his clothes, his binder, his plastic Hello Kitty lunch box (which was blue, for the record – he refused to let her buy him anything _pink._) She had planned every one of his outfits through November, when they'd go shopping again. He didn't complain. He'd learned long ago it was best to keep his mouth shut.

He kept walking, stopping only to let Max do his business in some old woman's front yard. He cleaned it up and continued towards Stark's Pond, where, like every morning, he would sit on a bench and think for a while as Max chased pigeons in the grass. There was never anyone else there that early in the morning. It was nice.

Butters approached the pond and headed towards his bench. "Go on, Max. Be- be a good boy, okay?" Max barked and dashed off. Butters ran a hand through his hair and sat down on the empty bench- but wait! He jumped off and turned around. The orange lump he'd just sat on stirred.

"Kenny?"

"Mmm?"

"K- Kenny, by gosh, what are you doing sleeping on a bench?"

"Butters?"

"Yeah, Kenny, th-that's me. What are you doing?" Kenny sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"I- I don't know..." Butters looked at him, concerned. "I came here last night. My parents were fighting. I wasn't going to stay here all night… but my coat was so warm… I must've fallen asleep…"

"Kenny, can I ask you something?"

"Yeah?"

"Why- why do you wear that ol' coat all the time? Doesn't it get stuffy?"

"It keeps me safe," said Kenny simply. Butters smiled.

"I know what you mean." He rubbed his left shoulder. It was still sore from yesterday, when his mom had hit him for not cleaning his room.

"When I'm not wearing my coat… I feel open. Like anyone can see me, can do whatever they want to me. But… "

"It's almost like you're hiding." Kenny nodded.

"Yeah. Hiding... from the world." They sat in silence for several minutes.

"Kenny?"

"Yeah, Butters?"

"It's- it's okay for you to hide."

"Yeah." Butters fidgeted. "Butters?"

"Yeah, Kenny?"

"You're hiding too, aren't you?" Butters nodded slowly.

"But… Kenny?"

"Yeah?"

"I… I feel safe… right now… talking to you."


	3. Believing StanWendy

A/N: Okay, one review so far. Ah, well...

For those of you who are reading and not reviewing (I see the hits, people. I know some of you are reading. Come out, come out, wherever you are!) I'd really appreciate it if you did leave a review. Even a bad review is okay, because it's constructive criticism and I know these stories aren't as good as my usual ones.

If, for some reason, you just don't feel like reviewing all the chapters, please, _please_ try to review on the chapter featuring your OTP. Tell me how I'm doing and whether you personally liked it or not. (Sorry if I'm sounding whiny, everyone!)

Anyway, the usual disclaimer applies. Enjoy the canon-ness that is Standy.

* * *

BELIEVING

It was their 8th breakup that year.

Nobody thought they'd last through the rest of junior year. Few thought they'd last the month. They would be together for a week, then she would leave him for another guy, and he'd win her back a few days later. Every. Single. Time.

"Why don't you ever end it first?" Kyle wanted to know. "She's always the one breaking up with you."

"Yeah," Cartman agreed, shoving a handful of tater tots into his mouth. "Give the bitch a taste of her own medicine."

But Stan could never do that.

He never wanted to end it because he wasn't sure if she'd take him back, the way he took her back, every time. Deep inside his heart he held a hope that their relationship would last forever and ever, that she would love him the way he loved her, that he would never again wear the Goth outfit that still hung in his closet in case of emergency. He knew it was a stupid wish. But still… he loved her.

He approached her on Thursday, two days after their 8th split. She was leaning against her locker looking bored while Craig chattered away at her side. Stan gulped. _Just do it,_ he told himself. _Get it over with._

"Wendy?" She looked at him expectantly. "Can I talk to you? Like, in private?"

"'K," she nodded, shooing a disappointed Craig off with one hand. "What's up?" She was always nice to him, always, even when they weren't together.

"I… have something… to tell you." He felt a familiar discomfort in his throat and swallowed, trying to keep it down.

Wendy looked nervous. "Is this about our breakup?"

"Kinda." She sighed.

"Go on."

"Okay. I, um… I… God, why can't I just say this? I love- I mean, I hate- arrgh! Why do you keep breaking up with me?" _Crap, that came out all wrong…_

"Stan…" She took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eyes. "I should probably just tell you. See, the thing is… I'm afraid. You're so perfect… and I want our relationship to last forever… I just…"

"You're scared we'll ruin it while we're young, so you're trying to end it now?"

"Something like that, yes."

"Wendy." He cupped his hand around her chin. "I think we'll be okay. I - oh, God, this sounds corny – I believe in our relationship, you know? I want to believe it will last forever. But… Wendy… you have to believe, too, you know." She bit her lip. "Wendy, I- I love you."

"Oh, Stan… I believe too."

"So no more breakups?"

"No more breakups. Unless you do something stupid." She giggled as he swatted her shoulder. "You know I love you. But seriously, we've been going out for two years and we haven't even kissed yet." Wendy leaned in until their lips were inches apart. Stan's heart beat faster and faster and…

He puked.

She pecked him on the cheek instead. "Oh well…"


	4. Gender CartmanWendy

A/N: And now to get the last bit of canon out of the way... (I think. Are there any more canon pairings between the main characters?) Anyway, I'm proud of how this one turned out. I just watched "Chef Goes Nanners" for the first time, and I'm glad I did, because it helped so much...

The inspiration for this one came from Georgshadow's **Vindicated**, which is not a Cartman/Wendy but focuses heavily on Cartman's cross-dressing problems. I didn't think I'd ever write a story about cross-dressing... but I got the word "gender" and it's the first thing that popped into my mind. So here it is. Enjoy.

Usual disclaimer applies... blah blah blah. comments/concerns/questions/complaints/compliments/cookies? You know what to do...

* * *

GENDER

As usual, they argued all the way home.

"Oh my God," laughed Wendy suddenly as a large woman in a red Mercedes swerved in front of them. "I forgot to tell you. Yesterday I was at the store and I saw this woman, right? She was wearing a pink tank top and a white miniskirt. And she was blocking my way, so I was like, "Excuse me, ma'am," and she turned around and she was a _guy!_ Isn't that wrong?"

"Whaddya mean?" asked Cartman, fishing around in the Cheesy Poofs bag.

"Guys shouldn't dress like girls, Cartman. It's sick."

"You're saying you're against cross-dressing?" He crumpled up the bag, tossed it on the floor, and pulled another one out of the paper bag by his feet.

"Do you ever stop eating?"

"Do you ever stop bitching?" Wendy glared at him. "Anyway, answer my question. You're against cross-dressing?"

"Well, I mean, a girl can dress like a guy, 'cause girls can wear jeans and T-shirts too. But when a guy wears a _skirt_…" She wrinkled her nose.

"Aren't you being a little sexist?" Wendy raised her eyebrows. "Don't you find it unfair that girls can wear whatever they want, but guys are confined to T-shirts and pants?"

"Okay, maybe it is unfair. But that doesn't mean guys can parade around in dresses. _They're_ being unfair to other people!"

"Have you ever, like, talked to a cross-dresser before? To find out why they do it?"

"No. Isn't it like a psychological disorder or something? Aren't cross-dressers mentally ill?"

"No!" shouted Cartman, chucking the now-empty Cheesy Poofs bag at the dashboard. Wendy started.

"Don't throw things while I'm driving!"

"Cross-dressers aren't _ill!_ We're normal peop-" Wendy slammed her foot on the brake, and Cartman was thrown against his seatbelt.

"_We!_"

"Are you crazy! We're in the middle of the road! We're gonna get hit!"

"Explain to me what you meant by _we!_"

"Drive!"

"Explain!" Cartman pulled his fingers across his lips in a zipping motion. "Fine," Wendy grumbled as two cars swerved to avoid hitting them, honking loudly. "Screw you!" she yelled, sticking her finger out the window in a Craig-like fashion. "Now tell me. Are you or are you not a cross-dresser?"

"Would you still like me if I was?" Cartman's voice was unusually soft. He bit his lip, awaiting his girlfriend's answer.

"Um… I…" In a desperate attempt to clear her mind enough to respond, she pulled over and turned off the car. _There. That's better._ She tried to imagine Cartman in a skirt. Unbelievably, it wasn't that hard.

"What are you thinking, Wendy?" He placed a large but gentle hand on her shoulder. This was when she liked him best – not when they were arguing, not when they were making out.

"I'm thinking," she said with a small smile, "that it might be kinda hot to see you in a skirt…" He grinned.

"That's the answer I was looking for, ho."

And as usual, the argument ended with a kiss.


	5. Eulogy KyleKenny

A/N: Thank you guys _so much_ for all the incredible reviews! There weren't any for a while, but then they just poured in overnight... :) Seriously, you have no clue how happy those reviews made me... 

Anyway. I'm proud of this chapter, too, though the ending _is_ a little rushed and it turned out a little more friendshippy than romantic... oh, I'll shut up now. I'd rather hear what youhave to say about the story... especially you K-squared fans... let me know what you think of it!

disclaimer: don't own south park. but we all knew that.

* * *

EULOGY – Kyle/Kenny

He'd been dying since he'd been born; he was living death, a human oxymoron. He'd get hit by a car or a rock or an arrow or a shoe and down, down, down he'd go, till he could just barely feel the heat seeping through his parka, slowly threatening to roast his skin, and then he'd shoot back up to Earth and be reborn. Every time, he'd find that no one had really noticed his absence, no one had cared.

Until now.

Kenny hadn't thought much of his illness at first; he'd written it off as a cold and run off with his friends to burn cow crap in the fields. But there was no mistaking the look on Dr. Doctor's face as he slowly shook his head that day at the hospital after Kenny had collapsed.

"This is no cold."

Kenny knew he was dying, and he knew he might not come back. His muscles burned even though he hadn't moved from the bed in days. Several times he felt himself slipping away, but he always pulled himself back. There were things he needed to do before he left. For starters, he needed to say goodbye; he had no clue how he was going to do that.

"I have an idea," said Kyle as he sat alone by Kenny's bedside. He came every day after school to check up on his friend. Sometimes he brought Cartman, and they would sit and talk to Kenny for hours without fighting at all. But he never brought Stan. "Why don't we say goodbye now? That way we'll know we've already said it when you… "

"Die." Kyle grimaced. "It's okay, Kyle. I know I'm gonna die soon. Maybe next week, maybe tonight. Who knows? But I'm leaving soon."

"Yeah, I know…" whispered Kyle. "I… I wanted to show you something." He reached into his backpack and handed Kenny a sheet of paper. "I was wondering… for… for your, you know, gravestone…" 

_Kenny McCormick_

_Each death cut more from our hearts_

_Each return widened our smiles_

_My heart has almost been carved away_

_But it will forever wear an orange coat._

"You wrote this?" 

"If you don't like it, we could always go with a simple 'You bastards!'" Kyle laughed weakly.

"It's perfect." It hurt, but Kenny forced himself to smile at his friend, whose upper lip trembled as he attempted to smile back.

"Oh, God, I'm gonna miss you, dude…" Ignoring the tubes and machines, Kyle leaned over and hugged Kenny.

"I'll miss you too, Kyle," Kenny whispered, trying to stop the tears that were pushing at the corners of his own eyes. They lay in silence, Kyle's gasps and sobs punctuating the stillness every few seconds. 

Five minutes later, Kyle sat up and wiped his eyes and looked at Kenny, who was sleeping. He leaned over, slipped off his friend's hood, and kissed him softly on the cheek.

"Goodbye, Kenny," he whispered, and then he turned and left the room.

* * *

A/N: A few of you requested pairings, and I will definitely include them in the story. The more people ask for a certain pairing (in your review! I like reviews!), the quicker I'll try to get that one written. Sound good? 


	6. Chocolate CartmanClyde

A/N: I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

Ugh! Cartman/Clyde is like my new pairing _obsession _(okay, I still like C/K much more, but C/C is currently taking over my life.) I've read everystory on here with Clyde as a main character (there are way too little Clyde fics!) and I needed to write a Clyde of my own. I was really looking forward to this one, especially because this is such an overlooked yet _good_ pairing - I mean, Clyde's the second fattest kid in class... he stood up for Cartman that one time...

Anyway. I don't think this one turned out good at all. Cartman is so incredibly OOC I want to rip him out of the story and beat him up. I like Clyde here, but I think I way overdid his low self-esteem. I mean, in "The List", he's so confident... argh, I made him too shy...

Enough of my nervous rambling. I hope my faithful readers will still R&R anyway, and I've got another chapter almost done that should be up tonight or early tomorrow. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter (I love you guys - I'm seriously) and I hope you'll stick with me, because I haven't gotten to the good stuff yet... (Style and C/K, here I come...)

disclaimer: don't own south park

* * *

CHOCOLATE

Another year, another day, another lunch period with nowhere to sit.

Tweek was absent, Craig was in the counselor's office, Token had a test to make up – Clyde was all alone. He absentmindedly took a tray and scanned the cafeteria. Who knew lunch could be so stressful?

He walked slowly between the tables, each one occupied by a different clique. Suddenly a tall girl with shiny brown hair bumped into him, and his tray went flying.

"Watch where you're going, fatty!" she sneered, brushing a piece of lettuce off her shirt. Clyde's face burned, and he could feel hot tears threatening to leave his eyes. The girl flipped her hair over her shoulder and walked off, leaving Clyde alone in the middle of the cafeteria, feeling as if he were under a spotlight.

"Half a brownie." He looked up. A large hand waved the dessert in his face.

"Huh?"

"I'll give you half my brownie since you don't have a lunch." Cartman split it in two and offered a piece to Clyde, who stared at him. _Eric Cartman? Sharing his food voluntarily?_ It was unheard of… "You want it or not?" Clyde nodded feebly and stood up, sliding into the table, which was empty but for Cartman and his heaping tray.

"Thanks," he mumbled, taking the brownie. Cartman took a bite of taco and chewed slowly, studying Clyde.

"Where are your friends?"

"Um… they're…"

"They ditched you."

"No, they didn't." Cartman nodded.

"I've got their type all figured out. My old friends were the same way." He shot a look over at a table in the corner, where the popular kids – Stan, Kyle, Kenny, Wendy, Bebe – were giggling and whispering. Clyde bit his thumbnail. Were his friends really like that? They _had _been skipping lunch a lot… but he'd never thought much of it.

"Don't like the brownie?" Cartman motioned to the untouched treat.

"I…" Clyde flushed. "I… um… haven't eaten chocolate in a while…"

"You're on a diet?" Clyde nodded. "Retard." Cartman shoved the last bit of taco into his mouth. "You're not _fat._"

"Yeah I am," Clyde mumbled, focusing intensely on the ground. "I'm the second- "

"You believe that shit?" Cartman shoved his tray out of the way and grabbed Clyde's hand. "Listen. There's only one fat kid here, and that's me. Just because you're not a stick… Don't listen to them, okay?"

Clyde stared at him in shock. Was Cartman admitting he was fat? Was Cartman trying to… make him feel better! "Eat the brownie. My mom made it – it's good." Cartman let go of Clyde's hand and sat back, watching as Clyde bit off a piece.

"Thanks." It was chewy and chocolaty – one of the best brownies he'd ever had. Two more bites and it was gone.

They sat there staring at each other untilbell rang,then Cartman picked up his tray. "See ya 'round, Clyde." 

He walked away, leaving Clyde alone to wonder what the hell had just happened.

A/N: Hope that wasn't too bad... 

Just one last quick note to thank everyone who's requested pairings - I'm really excited to work on them, especially the lesser-known or more overlooked pairings.If you're a diehard shipper who will strangle me if I don't include your favorite pairing, or if you simply think of a strange pairing and want to challenge me, feel free to let me know - I love experimenting (hence the name of the story...)


	7. Goldfish StanBebe

A/N: Woohoo. Another chapter. While I don't really _like_ this one (darn you evil writer's block! you're ruining all my stories!) I don't think it's the worst. Stan/Bebe is an interesting pairing... but the only way I could think of to make it work was "revenge" on Wendy. So here it is. I really do think the ending is way too rushed, but I like the dialogue. I don't think I used the theme that well, though... It's just okay, in my mind.

But it's not my thoughts that count - you're the reader, and I'd much rather hear what _you_ have to say. (decode: review please!!) Thank you so much to the people who've reviewed the Cartman/Clyde chapter. You guys rock!! The only really good thing about this is that I'm working hard on my chaptered fics and on the "good" pairings for this story. So expect some better stuff coming up soon. : )

disclaimer: don't own south park...

* * *

GOLDFISH

It was second period on the first day of sixth grade, and Stan already had a headache. He yawned as the teacher yammered on about class policies, respect, grades… all that gay stuff he'd been getting on the first day of school since kindergarten.

"And now," sang the teacher, straightening a pile of papers on her desk, "we'll get to know one another through _interviews!_" The class groaned.

"Ugh," whispered Kyle. "Let's make it easy and interview each other."

"Do we get to choose our partners?" asked Wendy sweetly, clearly thinking along the same lines as Kyle and Stan. The teacher shook her head.

"I'll be picking for you." Another collective groan rose from the class. "Let's see… Wendy Testaburger… you'll be paired up with Kyle Broflovski." Kyle rolled his eyes and joined Wendy at her desk. "Stanley Marsh… Bebe Stevens." Stan sighed as the blonde made her way over to Kyle's now-empty seat.

"This'll be fun," she said, smiling. Stan said nothing as he focused on Kyle and Wendy – his _best friend_ and his _girlfriend_… "Stan?"

"Let's just start the interview," he muttered. "First question… what do you want to be when you grow up?" Bebe's eyes lit up.

"A lawyer! Omigod, I _love_ law! Me and Wendy are gonna be lawyers together." She grinned. "What about you?"

"I dunno…" mumbled Stan, his attention wandering back to Wendy and Kyle. "Like… I'm not really into anything… not like you're into law. I could be, like, a musician… or a pro football player…. I really don't know."

"That's cool," shrugged Bebe. "Um… do you have any pets?"

"Sparky, my dog. And…" He was finding it really hard to concentrate – Kyle was whispering something in Wendy's ear – "And I had this goldfish, once. It… um… killed people."

"_Seriously?_" Bebe squeaked. Stan nodded.

"Yeah, it was like… evil…" Wendy smiled at Kyle. _You know what? I can play this game, too._ "I still have the body, I think. You should come over and check it out." Bebe smiled.

"I'd like that." Stealing another look at his flirting friends, Stan leaned in closer to Bebe.

"I'd like that too." He knew her reputation, it was obvious she had a crush on him, and so he was sure she'd return his advances. He tried to focus on her glossy pink lips as he leaned in and… bam. Contact.

"Stanley! Bebe! Get back to work!" Bebe blushed and Stan swore under his breath as Kyle and Wendy stared at them in shock. _Crap. _

"Stan? What was… what was that for?"

"I…" _That didn't feel too bad. _And he hadn't puked, either. "D'you still wanna come over and… see the goldfish body?"

"Sure." She grinned, oblivious to the fact that Stan's eyes were again centered on Wendy and Kyle, and picked up her pencil. "Um… let's get back to the interview?" He looked at her, then shot one more glance towards his friends. Bebe wasn't too bad. He could make this work.

Screw Kyle and Wendy.


	8. Alcohol StanKenny

A/N: Ahh! Sorry for the long delay in updates... I actually don't have an excuse, so go ahead and give me that evil death stare. (like the gopher! haha.)

Anyway, funny story: the night after I wrote the last chapter (Stan/Bebe), I watched "Follow that Egg!" for the first time and was very surprised at the similarity to my chapter... lol it's a great episode - has a lot of Style references...

Moving on. I've gotten a lot of requests so far, and I'm pretty sure I'm gonna include all of them. I'm too lazy to write a list of everything I'm working on (lol) so I'll give you the condensed names (and if I don't know of one, I'm making it up, so have fun guessing!!): **Style, Startman, Stutters, Kyleric, Wyle, Kenman, Buttman, Kendy, Kenbe, Wenters, Dip, Creek. **(Those are the ones I'm _definitely_ including, but it is in no way the _only_ ones I'm including; feel free to request others, as usual.)

I was looking forward to writing this one, but it went in a very different direction from what I'd pictured. I'm afraid it's very similar to my most recent oneshot, **Pain**(oh, and I'm especially proud of that one, so if you haven't read it, I'd really appreciate if you R&R'd) but at the same time it's different... aye-yai-yai I'm rambling. Enjoy the story.

disclaimer: I don't own South Park. which, sadly, means I don't own Butters... in all his "What What (In My Asshole)" glory. (cmon, you know you cracked up last night...)

* * *

ALCOHOL

_Alcohol is bad, mmkay?_

Yet he found himself staring at the cup in his hands, wondering if it was always bad, or just for some people.

_His dad had been one of those people._

He shook the thought from his head. He was going to have fun tonight. After all, it was a party, right?

_His dad had been coming home from a party._

He sat down heavily on the snow-covered steps. It was dark and chilly – past midnight, but without a watch, there was no telling whether it was one o'clock or three. Shivering, he looked once more at the cup, then took a sip. It was bitter, just as he'd expected, but he forced himself to gulp down more. _Gonna have fun tonight._

* * *

Inside, Kenny pushed his blond hair out of his eyes and shook his head. "No, thanks."

"Your loss," shrugged Craig, downing another cup. Kenny looked around the room for someone to talk to, but everyone was either drunk or knocked out.

Then he saw a silhouette just outside the sliding door, huddled up on the steps.

* * *

Stan was nearing the bottom of the cup. It wasn't that bad, really, once you got used to it…

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" He looked up. Kenny stood above him, his eyes wide.

"Just having something to drink," he answered softly, knowing Kenny was smarter than that.

Kenny's foot connected with the cup, knocking it into the snow. He ignored Stan's protest and sat down. "Why would you do that?"

"… I dunno."

_Dad said it fixed his problems._

"You wanna end up like _them?_"

"…no." Stan dug his toe into the snow.

"Good." Kenny wrapped his arm around Stan's shoulders. "You miss him a lot, don't you?" Stan nodded.

"I keep thinking… I keep thinking he's gonna come back, you know?"

"Yeah."

_When people die, they don't come back._

"But that's no reason to do everything he did." Kenny motioned towards the cup. "You saw what _that_ did to our dads." His voice was calm, but his eyes revealed a glimpse of weakness – the sadness of his past, the past that was intertwined with Stan's. "Listen, I- I just… I don't want anything to happen to you. We're in this together…"

Stan shivered, and Kenny instinctively pulled him closer. They stared in silence at the nighttime sky, watching the stars twinkle slowly, the same stars that had been twinkling the night two men made a fatal mistake.

And next to Stan's foot, the beer trickled out of the cup, staining the purity of the clean white snow.


	9. Volunteer KyleWendy

A/N: Well. I got a _lot_ of requests for Kyle/Wendy, and here it is. I hope you all like it. IMO, it's a little... I dunno... rushed? confusing? But that's up to you to decide.

I think I got them pretty IC (yay!). Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed since last time! Next up is Cartman/Kenny. I might put it up today, actually... oh, and I'm adding Wendy/Gregory to the mix, so that'll be interesting. Requests are, of course, still welcome, because this is, after all, an experiment...

comments/concerns/questions/complaints/compliments/cookies? The review button is sitting right there...

disclaimer: nopes, I don't own it.

* * *

VOLUNTEER

It wasn't Kyle's fault he and Wendy had been the only kids who showed up for the AIDS walk on Saturday.

Kyle had gone because, as a former victim of HIV, he sympathized with those who had the disease. Wendy had gone because… he wasn't really sure why Wendy had gone. Of course, Cartman had an explanation – Wendy was a hippie who had nothing better to do than volunteer.

His friends had been less than pleased when he told them he'd be volunteering with Wendy. Kenny had yawned, claiming Heidi was much hotter than Wendy anyway, Cartman had, of course, accused him of being a hippie, and Stan had sulked, as he always did when Kyle got within twenty feet of his ex-girlfriend.

They had both been working at the sign-in table, handing out AIDS Awareness pins. Well, Wendy had been handing out AIDS Awareness pins. The fact that Stan kept texting Kyle made it hard for him to fully contribute.

"Kyle, can you take some of these?"

"Oka- hang on," Kyle muttered, taking the pins with one hand and flipping open his phone with the other. _**Is she wearing lip gloss? wendy only wears lip gloss when shes with a guy she likes. **_Kyle sighed. _Was_ Wendy wearing lip gloss? Her lips were shiny, but maybe they were always like that. Kyle never really bothered to look.

"Kyle, is there a problem?"

"Wha- no! No problem, everything's fine," he promised, handing a pin to an old man. "Thanks for supporting AIDS Awareness."

"Okay," shrugged Wendy as Kyle's phone buzzed again. "Just seems like something's bothering you." Kyle ignored the text (and Wendy) and sorted the pins into piles.

"Excuse me?"

"What? Oh, sorry, here you go," Wendy said, counting out five pins for a middle-aged woman and her kids. "Kyle, you sure you're okay?" He nodded. "Um, okay, then."

Silence.

"I think it's really cool that you're volunteering and all."

More silence.

"I never get to talk to y- "

"Wendy, are you wearing lip gloss?" Kyle looked her straight in the eye.

"Huh?" In her surprise, she nearly poked herself with a pin. "Um. Yes I am. Why?"

"Never mind." He shoved a handful of pins at the next person in line as Wendy touched her lips.

_Bzzzt._ Grateful this time for the distraction, Kyle flipped the phone open. _**Fine! ignore me! u can have wendy, i dont like her anymore. but were not friends anymore!**_

"Kyle?"

"Oh, sorry… Stan texted me…" He flipped the phone shut. Personally, he thought Stan was blowing the whole thing way out of proportion. Kyle didn't _like_ Wendy, and Wendy didn't _like _Kyle…

But then why were her lips so shiny? Why was she wearing an orange t-shirt and green cargo pants – the same colors as Kyle's outfit? And why…

He looked at the table in front of Wendy, where she'd laid out her AIDS Awareness pins in a design. A W… and a K… and a heart.

Girls were _so_ confusing.


	10. Theft CartmanKenny

A/N: Chapter 10! Thanks to everyone who's reviewed since last time. :) A couple of people have asked for me to continue either the Stan/Bebe or the Kyle/Wendy, so I think I'm gonna start a short multi-chaptered fic with the two pairings. I dunno - I don't like the couples, but I think the idea is interesting. I might throw some Style in there, too. What do you guys think?

Back to _this_ story - here's Cartman/Kenny! I wrote this by hand first; it was really short and I had to add about 200 words... so if it seems different than usual, that's why. I think I got Cartman more IC than last time, but I don't think he's that good (Cartman slash is _hard..._)

Anyway. Usual disclaimer applies... can't wait to see what everyone has to say, as usual, and requests are, of course, still welcome. :) Enjoy!

* * *

THEFT

It started with the chips.

He'd been seven years old at the time, old enough to know that nothing was free. He knew money was paid for the dinner they ate, the clothes they wore, the beer his dad drank each night. He knew you couldn't just walk into the store, grab a bag of chips, and walk out.

But he did it anyway.

Two years later, Kenny didn't consider it stealing anymore; it was his life. Tuesday's dinner, Friday's breakfast, thread to patch up his parka… if it hadn't been for him, his family might've starved. Hell, they were almost starving _anyway_, even with his help.

However, he was still just a kid, old enough to have moral values but young enough to be selfish, and he often stole things he didn't need. That's what he was doing today, flipping through a _Playboy_ and then stuffing it in his parka, tightening his hood, turning, and- bumping into Cartman?

That definitely wasn't part of the plan.

Cartman stared at Kenny's jacket. He'd seen. But this was only one time; it wasn't like Cartman knew he stole every day…

But the look on the fat boy's face wasn't too reassuring. Cartman reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope, handing it to Kenny without saying anything. Orange gloves clumsily tore the flap, revealing several dozen pictures.

Of Kenny.

Of Kenny in the grocery store, in the toy store, his head down, his hand under his parka, hiding carrots and potatoes and waffles and toy cars and magazines.

"Don't tell," Kenny whispered. There was little chance of reasoning with Cartman, he knew, but it was worth a try.

"I won't," he smirked, "if you do what I say." _Blackmail_. Of course. Kenny gulped. He didn't have much of a choice – be Cartman's slave, or go straight to juvie. _Ugh._ He shuddered. Kenny wasn't a bad kid – he'd just made some bad choices. And he sure as hell didn't want to be locked in a building with Trent Boyett…

He nodded. Cartman grinned, took a step closer… and as Kenny shrunk back, Cartman pulled him into a kiss.

_What the hell?_ Kenny's mind raced, but he didn't dare pull away, not even when the fat boy's wet tongue slipped into his mouth. If Cartman told on him, he was screwed.

He had to come up with another plan…

After what seemed like minutes, Cartman finally broke the kiss. "See ya tomorrow morning. Behind the school."

"Wh- what was that for?" Kenny called, chasing after him. "Wait!"

Cartman grabbed his arm. "You tell, I'll tell..." He pecked Kenny on the cheek and shoved him to the ground. "Adios, poor boy."

Kenny stood up, brushed himself off, and slipped his hand into his pocket. The _Playboy _was gone, but he had something better. He pulled out the candy bar he'd taken from Cartman's pocket and grinned weakly.

Fatass didn't know what he was in for...


	11. Know WendyGregory

A/N: Woah, I feel so... out of it. I got a deviantART account the other day, and I haven't been active on FFn all weekend because I've been getting used to dA. So yeah, I feel like I'm missing something, but whatever.

I wrote this one last night while watching Bigger, Longer, and Uncut. It's such a cute couple, really... they're both so smart and political. But I think Wendy's really just smart by South Park standards, and so I wrote this with that in mind. That's why it may seem a little OOC... but I really don't think it is. I don't think I used the theme too well, though...

Ahh. I'm gonna shut up now. I've added a few new couples to the list (Clyny, Gregstophe, Buttley, Stary, Cromas, and Markyle). Woah, they're all slash... lol. Anyway, enjoy the lastest addition to _Experimentation._

disclaimer: don't own South Park, but I will soon own the SPBLU CD!! Hooray! oh, and I don't own _Survivor_ either.

* * *

KNOW

Gregory came from Yardale, where he had a 4.0 grade point average.

Wendy came from South Park Elementary, where she had a 3.2, but that was only because Mr. Garrison gave the class pointless assignments like analyzing the actions of soap opera characters.

Gregory was a leader; he led the force commonly known as La Resistance in saving the world.

Wendy was a leader, too; she had succeeded in changing the South Park flag.

Gregory was an amazing singer; his voice was powerful and commanding as he proudly proclaimed to the world the importance of La Resistance.

Wendy could sing, too; her jump-rope song had landed her a spot in the world's shortest-lived boy band, Fingerbang.

Gregory could rattle off the first, middle, and last names of every president in order, throwing in Monroe's birthday and Roosevelt's dog's name for good measure.

Wendy could rattle off the first, middle, and last names of every contestant on _Survivor_, thanks to Mr. Garrison.

Gregory was hot and sexy, and had had five girlfriends before coming to South Park, all of whom had been great kissers and deep, emotional intellectuals like himself.

Wendy was hot and sexy, too, (or so she hoped) and had had one sort-of-boyfriend. She didn't know if he was a good kisser, because his "problem" stopped them from kissing _every time, _and as for deep, emotional, and intellectual… he hung out with Cartman, of all people, which was a sign of extremely low intelligence.

Gregory could converse in fluent Spanish, French, Italian, German, Romanian, Japanese, and Icelandic.

Wendy could converse in fluent Pig Latin, Gibberish, and chat-speak.

Gregory showed up at Wendy's house on Valentine's Day wearing a suit and carrying a red rose.

Wendy opened the door in jeans and a tank top, blow-drying her disheveled hair and throwing her beret on top of her head.

"For you, _mon amor_," said Gregory, bowing slightly and handing her the rose.

"Oh, um, thanks," Wendy had responded, taking it with her pinky so as to not drop the blow-dryer on her foot.

"Shall we be going then?"

Wendy unplugged the dryer and left it on the table. "Sure."

They set off through the snow together, hand in hand, Gregory chatting amiably about the presidential candidates and Wendy silently cursing the fact that she hadn't had time to put on mascara. She hoped Gregory would turn to her and say something romantic, as the boy always did in the movies Wendy loved.

"Oh, oh, Wendy! Did you happen to hear about the dispute in Congress the other day?"

Wendy shook her head and smiled. Gregory was a great guy, really, and she was glad she'd agreed to come on this "teatime outing" with him. But, she decided, for someone who was supposed to know so much, he knew absolutely nothing about dates.

That was okay, though. Wendy was there to teach him all she knew.


	12. Cheese KennyClyde

A/N: Yes, you read this right - Kenny/Clyde. When I got a request for this from **Cissa DeLancome**, I went, "Wait... what?" But then I realized - if you watch the show closely, you'll see that Clyde isn't just the chubby crybaby we all know and love (or at least _I_ love), he's pretty perverted, too. So then I get the random word "cheese", and the opportunity is too good to pass up.

So this is a different side of both Clyde and Kenny, something I've never written before. I've also never written the whole porn/jacking off/getting high kinda thing, so that's pretty new, too... anyway, input is greatly appreciated, as usual. : ) Oh, and requests, of course! I've added a couple new ones to the list... the never-ending list... lol.

Anyway. Thanks for all the comments and critique, and I hope you all enjoy chapter 12.

disclaimer: don't own South Park, Playboy, or Girls Gone Wild. (don't think I'd want to, either)

* * *

CHEESE

Every Tuesday after school, Kenny went to Clyde's house.

They weren't friends or anything – didn't even acknowledge each other in school – but they were the biggest perverts in school, and that in itself was enough to bring them together. Kenny was known for his porn collection, but few knew that Clyde had enough back issues of _Playboy_ to keep Randy Marsh entertained for a year. His DVD player was an added bonus – Kenny waited all week for Tuesdays, when he and Clyde would pop in one of Clyde's dad's _Girls Gone Wild_ DVDs and they'd jack off together in silence.

It was during one of these "sessions" that Clyde turned to Kenny and sighed.

"What?"

"Don't you think this is getting kinda old?"

"Old?"

"Yeah." Clyde zipped his pants, walked over to the DVD player, and clicked OFF. "Let's do something else."

"Like what?" Kenny was a little pissed, but he decided to play along.

"Ever cheese?"

_Cheesing_. He knew what it was, of course. A vague memory – cats – piss – Butters – _boobs_. Kenny grinned and followed Clyde downstairs to the basement.

"Haven't done this in years," Clyde muttered, scooping up the family cat and tossing him on the table. "But I found _him _outside, and thought, 'why not?'" He grabbed the wild cat and set him next to Snookums.

Finally everything was ready. "I'll go first," said Clyde. "You just – you follow, 'k?" Kenny nodded and watched as Clyde bent down…

The cat meowed and suddenly Clyde was grinning wildly, staring off into space. _My turn_, thought Kenny, and he grabbed at the cat. Snookums, however, had other plans in mind – he leapt off of the table and dashed out of the room.

_Shit._ Kenny kicked the table, scaring away the other cat, and turned to face Clyde, who was off in a world Kenny couldn't get to. _Stupid cat. _Suddenly Clyde laughed, a weird, high-pitched, giggle, took a step closer, and the next thing Kenny knew, Clyde had grabbed his shoulders and was kissing him furiously on the lips.

And Kenny was kissing him back.

Never mind Clyde was high and would probably never do this otherwise; Kenny thought it felt _good_, and he didn't want it to stop. He pressed his lips against the other boy's, and didn't let up for five minutes, not until he realized that Clyde would be coming down from his high at any moment.

Two minutes later, Clyde rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Oh, man, that was freaking _awesome_."

"Mhmm," Kenny murmured.

"Didja see her boobs? Dude!"

"Mhmm," Kenny murmured, and followed Clyde out of the basement.

He couldn't wait till next Tuesday.


	13. Tense CraigTweek

A/N: Creek! One of the most-requested pairings so far (Style and KyleCartman are in the lead... don't worry, I'm working on those)

Anyway, Craig/Tweek. Interesting pairing, huh? I don't really understand why it's so popular - I don't like it that much myself. But I'd been meaning to try writing the pairing at some point, and I'm glad I did; it definitely has some interesting aspects that could be fun to play around with sometime. Dunno. How'd I do on my first Creek attempt? I rewatched "Craig vs. Tweek" and skimmed some Creek fics, so I hope it's believable... though I don't really like the ending that much... lol.

Oh... I've been drawing mini-illustrations for these stories. If you'd like to see them, I'm putting up a link on my Author Page (warning: drawing is _not_ my thing).

Reviews are much appreciated, as usual, and requests are welcome. Next up is probably Wenny or Pistella or Dip (or maybe something else entirely...) Enjoy!

disclaimer: don't own South Park

* * *

TENSE

Craig picked up Tweek for Stan's party on Friday night.

It wasn't a "date" thing by any means; Craig was currently in a relationship with Clyde, and everyone knew Tweek wanted Token. But seeing as Clyde and Token were both out of town for the weekend, the two boys were left to go together.

Craig had a weird habit of being four minutes late for everything, and he arrived at the Tweak house at 8:29, four minutes after he was supposed to pick up his friend and one minute before the party was set to start.

Tweek answered the door in a frenzy. "Craig! Gah! We're gonna be late!"

Craig laughed. "Chill, dude. The only people who'll get there on time are Kyle- and, well, Kyle. That's it. No one cares if we're-"

"_We're gonna be late!_" Tweek shrieked, pulling at his hair. Craig grabbed his shoulder.

"Calm- woah." Tweek's legs shook. "You're so _tense_, dude."

"I am?!" Tweek twitched, pulling himself from Craig's grasp. "Ahh!"

"N- no, hang on." Craig paused. "Just- don't flinch, okay?" Tweek trembled but nodded, and Craig slowly began to massage his shoulders.

"Gah!"

"Am I hurting you?"

"No…" Tweek sighed. "Keep going, it's okay." And so he did, working his way cautiously up towards Tweek's neck. All thought of the party were forgotten; Craig was lost in the silence, lost in the rhythmic motion of his own hands…

"Get a room, fags!" A car screeched by the house, jolting Craig out of his own thoughts. He turned and flipped them off reflexively.

"Ahh! I'm sorry!" Tweek yelled, jerking out of Craig's reach. "I- I gotta go. Gah! Bye!" He slipped into the house.

Craig stopped the door with his foot. "We have a party to go to." Tweek shook his head. "C'mon."

"No!"

Craig sighed and pushed his way into the house. "Is it the whole massage thing? 'Cause I won't do that anymore- I promise. Didn't know what I was thinking…"

"It's not that- gah!" Tweek dashed into the kitchen. "Sorry- need coffee- ahh!"

"I still don't get why you suddenly don't want to go to the party." Craig sat down in a kitchen chair.

"I-" Tweek sighed and plugged in the coffeemaker. "Okay. It's the… massage thing."

"You didn't like it?" Craig was a little hurt; he'd been working on his technique for years.

"No." Tweek turned. "I loved it." He sat down across from Craig, still twitching. "Mind doing it again?"

Craig placed his hands on Tweek's neck and began to knead. "So you'd rather stay home and- do _this_ than go to the party?" He wasn't about to tell Tweek, but the party sounded_ incredibly_ boring compared to this...

"Gah! I don't know!" Tweek's shoulders tightened again.

"It's okay." Craig pressed more firmly. "I'm cool with it."

Hours after the party ended, Craig was still at Tweek's, sleeping curled up on the living room couch with his hands still cupped around the other's shoulders.

Tweek wasn't as tense anymore.


	14. Smiling PipDamien

A/N: Here it is, everyone - Dip!

This is another one of those pairings that I don't really get. It's cute (and _very_ fun to write!) but I think it's strange that after just one episode, it became so popular... I would like to write some more of this sometime, though. I don't think I wrote it too well (again, first time) and I'd like to work on this pairing some more.

Oh! I want to thank everyone for all the amazing reviews and for favoriting and alerting and all that. As I'm writing this, this story has 104 reviews, which completely blows me away. I didn't mean for it to be a serious story at all when I started, and now... wow. I love you guys :D Oh, and congrats to **Luna C. Starque** for catching the 100th review! She gets a oneshot request - KyleCartman, hooray! I wish I could write a story for each and every one of you... sadly, I'm much too busy. But thank you all **so much** for the awesome feedback - and for those lurkers out there, thank you for reading.

/sentiment

I must be going now. Reviews are much appreciated, as usual, especially from all you Dip fans - how'd I do? Oh, and requests are still welcome, but if you're going to request, I'd appreciate it if you did comment on the chapter, too, in your review besides just requesting. :) Enjoy!

disclaimer: don't own it. nope.

* * *

SMILING – Pip/Damien

"Hey! Frenchie!"

Pip looked up. "So sorry, Eric, but I'm not French. I'm British."

"Who cares, you French piece of crap?" Cartman laughed. "My, your lunch looks so _tasty_, Pip." He leaned over and grabbed the blonde's only food, a small slice of cheese pizza, and shoved it in his mouth.

"Oh," sighed Pip. "Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it!" Cartman smirked and opened his mouth, ready to say something, but he was suddenly thrown backwards into the wall by some unseen force.The kids cheered.

"_Must_ you be such a pussy?" Damien sighed and handed Pip another piece of pizza. "That's the third time he's given you shit today, and you just smile and take it."

Pip looked confused. "Should I have been more hostile? He was hungry, and I didn't really need the pizza, anyway."

Damien sat down at the table. "Be as hostile as you want. That fat kid's a damn loser."

"But all the other boys seem to enjoy his comp-"

"Screw them!" Fire danced in Damien's eyes as he bit into his own pizza. "Someday, when my father takes over, that fat kid'll be the first to go."

"Oh, dear." Pip glanced uneasily over at Cartman, who could've been unconscious – he hadn't moved from his spot slumped up against the wall. "Would you really do that?"

"'Course."

Pip grinned again. "Damien, that's ever so nice of you! See, you _can_ be nice if you-"

Damien rolled his eyes and sent Pip straight into the air without a word. The British boy landed hard on his butt, sending the other students into another round of laughter.

"Oh, dear, Damien, that was quite a shock!" He smiled weakly and stood up.

"What the- of course it was a _shock!_ Dammit, Pip, stop _smiling!"_

"Righty-o, then." Pip tried to force his face muscles into a frown.

"You look like a complete retard, you know."

"Oh, I do apologize." Pip smiled, then quickly caught himself. Damien dumped a carton of milk on his head anyway.

"You suck, you know that?"

"I'm so very sor-"

"Stop _apologizing_, dammit!" Damien sighed. "You're hopeless."

Pip remained silent, determined not to apolo-

"I'm sorry."

"GAHH!" Damien shouted, and tackled the poor British boy to the ground, not bothering to use telekinesis this time. A circle quickly formed around them, and soon the cafeteria rang with chants of "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

"Beat him up, new kid!"

Damien wasn't the new kid anymore – he hadn't been for a while.

"Yeah, new kid, kill that little French bastard!"

Pip trembled, but managed to force a smile anyway. Damien wouldn't kill him, would he? Damien wouldn't-

Suddenly Damien pressed his lips against Pip's, still keeping him pinned to the ground. "Stop _smiling._" He kissed him again, more firmly, going so far as to poke the tip of his tongue into the British boy's mouth.

Then, without another word, he slapped Pip on the head, got up, and left the cafeteria in a poof of black smoke.

Pip smiled.


	15. Annoying StanButters

A/N: I hate writer's block. I've barely written anything new in the past week and a half, and it feels terrible. The only thing I've managed to do is figure out how I'm going to end _Secrets_ (!)- there's one chapter left and then the epilogue, which I've already written. I still have around 4,000 words to go, though, but hopefully it'll be up soon.

To those who I'm collabing with - I'm so sorry!! I'm working on my parts, I promise, and I feel _so bad_ for not having them ready by now. I'll try and send them to you by tomorrow or Tuesday; it's just I'm so busy, plus the writer's block... arrgh. I'm sorry, I really am. :(

Anyway, though, about _this_ story. The only reason I was able to write this was because of **Puds** on dA - she drew a really awesome Stutters pic and I managed to get this out despite the blockage. I like it, I dunno. Even though it's one-sided, and Stan might be just a little too OOC... hmm. I based it off "Two Guys Naked in a Hot Tub" (ep. 308), so yeah.

Thanks for all the awesome reviews. :) Feedback is appreciated as usual, and requests are still welcome! Coming up should be Kendy, and, if you're lucky (XD), Style.

disclaimer: South Park don't belong to me, no siree!

* * *

ANNOYING – Stan/Butters

Who's the last person you'd want to be locked in a room with? If you asked Stan Marsh, he'd answer "Butters Stotch" without another thought. Even _Cartman _was bearable compared to the sickeningly innocent, Hello Kitty-loving Melvin.

So of course, by a combination of irony, Murphy's law, and the unfortunate coincidences that always seemed to occur in South Park, Stan ended up partnered with Butters for the history project.

"You're lucky," said Kyle, who'd gotten Cartman and, unlike Stan, would gladly take Butters over the fatass any day. "I'll trade you!"

Sadly, though, no trades were allowed, and so that's why Stan was wasting his Saturday stuck in Butters's bedroom with nothing but a glue stick and a 24-pack of crayons.

He tapped his fingers while Butters turned the pages of the textbook. "Um… well, it says here that the Magna C-Carta was written in 1215…" He looked up at Stan.

"What?"

"W-well, is that right?"

"How am I supposed to know?" sighed Stan. "_You're_ the one with the book."

"Oh," blushed Butters. Stan rolled his eyes and leaned back, half-listening to the rustle of pages and the scratch of Butters's pencil against the paper. _Rustle-scratch-rustle-scratch-rustle-_

"Stan?"

"What," he said flatly. Not a question, because he didn't really care.

"Uh, w-who was Charlemagne?"

"King," answered Stan. Butters nodded and wrote something down.

"Stan?"

"_What?_"

"Um… king of what?"

Stan sighed and got up. _The sooner we get this done, the sooner I'll be out of here, _he told himself, sitting down next to his partner. He grabbed the pencil from Butters's grip and began to write, occasionally flipping through the book. The blond boy watched intently but said nothing.

"There," said Stan finally, shoving the pencil back into Butters's hand. Butters shuddered. "What?"

"N-nothing."

Stan rolled his eyes again and resumed his position against the bed. "Tell me when you're ready to do the poster."

Butters nodded. It was silent for ten minutes, then-

"Stan?"

"What?"

"Nothing."

Stan groaned. Butters twitched.

"Stan?"

Stan didn't answer.

"Stan?" Butters asked again. "Sta-"

"_What?!_" shouted Stan, getting up again. "_What, _Butters?" Butters bit his lip. "What do you _want?_"

"I-"

"You know what? _I don't care_!" Stan stormed over to the bedroom door. "You're so freaking _annoying_, Butters! _Stan_ this and _Stan_ that!" He tossed the glue stick and crayons on the ground. "I'm _leaving_, Butters! Find yourself another partner!" He slammed the door hard, knocking a ceramic kitten off the desk. It bounced onto the carpeted floor but did not break.

Stan stood outside the closed door, shaking. He had intended to go stomping off down the hallway, but something told him to stay outside the room.

If he hadn't, he wouldn't have heard Butters murmur, so softly Stan wondered if he'd heard correctly, "But I love you."

If he hadn't, he wouldn't have swung open the door and stepped slowly into the room.

And if he hadn't, he wouldn't have seen Butters look up, a huge grin on his face.

"Stan?"


	16. Peace KennyWendy

A/N: This is one of the first ones I've done in a while that's not onesided or anything of that nature. I think Kenny/Wendy, while closer to crack than to canon, is a cute pairing, and it's fun to write. I hope this is just as fun to read. ;)

Reviews appreciated :D, requests welcome. I'm really liking the pairings some people are requesting; you guys are creative! Keep in mind, though, that while I'll try to get crack pairings in here if they're requested, I won't write anything I don't understand.

Style and Pistella in progress, but there's no promises as to what's coming up next.

disclaimer: South Park isn't mine...

* * *

PEACE

"Define 'peace'." Wendy tapped her pen against her desk. "Hmm."

"Isn't peace, just, like, the absence of war?" Kenny leaned back and put his feet up on the desk, an easy feat for the thin boy.

"No, it's not. And get your feet off the desk, we'll get in trouble." Kenny mumbled under his breath and sat up straight. "The absence of war is only _negative_ peace. Positive peace- "

"Does it really make a difference?" _Hippie,_ Kenny thought, grinning at his girlfriend.

"Yes it does! Positive peace is more like harmony, you know? Freedom."

"All the question asks for is 'peace', Wendy. Not 'positive peace.' Not 'negative peace.'"

"So? That doesn't mean we have to give it a one-word answer."

"It doesn't mean we have to write an analytical essay on the infinite meanings of the word, either."

Wendy sighed and put her pen down. "Fine. What does 'peace' mean to you, then, Kenny? _Not_ the absence of war. What's it mean to _you?_"

Kenny looked at her. Peace? To him? _Hmm…_

Peace, to Kenny, was the stillness of the early morning, long before anyone else in his family had woken up, long before the quiet was shattered by the crowing of yet another argument.

Peace, to Kenny, was the once-in-a-blue-moon bus rides where his friends did not fight, but laughed and joked as if no animosity existed.

Peace, to Kenny, was…

He glanced at Wendy and smiled.

"Well?" She looked at him expectantly. He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. "Mmmmhh!"

"What?" Kenny pulled away.

"The teacher'll see," hissed Wendy. "You can't just- what was that for, anyway?"

"You asked what peace meant to me." Kenny tugged on the drawstrings of his parka, embarrassed.

Wendy didn't answer. Instead, she gave Kenny a long, hard look, got up, and walked over to the teacher's desk.

_Shoot._ He'd blown it. Now she was going to get all pissed at him for "inappropriate behavior during class". Ah, well. It was a shame, really; Kenny liked Wendy, more than he had his previous girlfriends. She was nice, and smart, too, almost as smart as Kyle. She was beautiful – her hair, her eyes, the way her beret sat at the slightest angle atop her head. And she had nice boobs, too. Not as big as Bebe's, granted, but Wendy had some tits.

She came back just then and motioned for Kenny to get up. He followed her out of the room and into the hallway.

"What?"

Wendy stared at him for a second, expressionless. "We're going to get in trouble," she whispered, and then she grabbed Kenny's shoulders and pressed her lips to his, and suddenly he was lost in a whirlwind of love and excitement and bliss and… _peace_.

Until the teacher came out into the hallway, that is. The principal's office didn't have a very peaceful atmosphere…


	17. Exploration StanKyle

A/N: Here it is, everyone. The Style. :D

So. This isn't, like, porn or anything, but it's closer to an M rating than anything I've written previously; how'd I do? I think it moves a little too fast... and it's a little awkward... blegh. Oh, and I've never really written Stan/Kyle before, either, but it's one of my favorite pairings and I did have a lot of fun with this one.

Feedback is definitely appreciated :D, and requests are still welcome. C/K's winning the request race, so that may be coming up soon, dunno. Currently in-progress are Pistella and Webe.

Enjoy! :)

disclaimer: South Park belongs to Matt&Trey.

* * *

EXPLORATION

"Wait, so, lemme get this straight. Columbus thought he'd landed in _India?_ What a douche." Stan rolled onto his stomach and leaned his chin on Kyle's leg.

"It was the fifteenth century, Stan. They didn't have GPS. So the guy made a mistake. How does that make him a douche?" Kyle asked. "Anyway, you should've known all this already. Didn't we learn about Columbus in, like, third grade?"

"We didn't learn _anything_ in third grade," Stan said. Kyle laughed. "And for the record, Columbus _was_ a douche, because he was all 'I discovered America!' when the Indians were already there."

"Yeah, but nobody knew about them," Kyle sighed. "Look, dude, the test is tomorrow. I don't think calling Columbus a douche is going to get you an A."

"Screw that." Stan propped himself up on his elbows. "I can think of twenty things I'd rather be doing that studying for this stupid test."

"And those are…?"

"You," Stan smirked. Kyle blinked. Stan leaned over the history book and kissed him quickly on the mouth.

"Not _now,_ Stan," Kyle murmured. "The explorers test-" Stan cut him off with another kiss, and within seconds their eyes were closed and their tongues were locked in a furious dance. He could feel Kyle's fingers moving restlessly under him, fidgeting with the pages of the textbook; there were better uses for those hands.

Stan grabbed Kyle's wrists, pulling his lips away at the same time. "When did Columbus sail to America?" _Keep Kyle distracted._

"1492," Kyle answered immediately, his eyes still closed. It was a reflex, Stan noticed. Kyle's reaction time was incredible.

And so was his sense of touch, apparently.

"What are you doing?" Kyle asked as Stan's fingers brushed the button on his jeans. "Stan?"

"…exploring," Stan murmured, more or less lost in his own world, the New World. The button popped open and the zipper came down easily, and before long Stan was a stranger in a brand-new territory.

"Stan?"

"I feel like Columbus," he laughed awkwardly as his fingers worked away, unsure of what he was saying or why he was saying it. Kyle smiled, though, and kissed Stan lightly.

"You're different," he said quietly. "He didn't discover America. The Native Americans were already there." Stan grinned and reached for Kyle's body again, anxious for the feeling of his friend's smooth, freckled skin against his own, but Kyle's hands stopped him. "My turn, Columbus," he whispered, brushing his finger down Stan's arm and making him shudder.

He closed his eyes and relaxed, letting Kyle's hands do the work this time. It felt incredible, this wave of happiness that was overtaking his entire body. Screw crossing the Atlantic – he _was_ the Atlantic, and Kyle was the ship, sailing determinately along, dipping into Stan's being, journeying to a far-off land. They didn't know exactly where they were headed to, or when they'd get there – but hey, neither did Columbus, Stan figured, and he dove in for another kiss.


	18. Shape WendyBebe

A/N: It's been a while, sorry.

Webe is one of the more requested pairings; I hope you guys like it! This was my first time writing yuri - it was fun, but I don't think I did it very well, lol. The ending is _so_ rushed and confusing... blegh. I want to write more Wendy/Bebe, but with more of a friendshippy feel, you know?

Anyway. Feedback much appreciated, requests welcome. C/K's in the lead and Gregstophe is close behind. Currently in progress are Gregstophe and Bejorine.

disclaimer: South Park's not mine.

* * *

SHAPE

"I'm _fat_," Bebe moaned, her hands on her hips as she modeled the yellow bikini for the mirror. "Wendy, why did I ever let you talk me into this?"

"_You_ wanted to come shopping," Wendy reminded her. "_I _wanted to study for the geometry test, remember?"

"Study, study, study, that's all you ever do," laughed Bebe, changing her pose. "Have some fun, Wends."

"I have _fun, _I just- I have priorities, okay?"

Bebe tossed her a purple bathing suit. "Put this on. It'll go perfect with your eyes." Wendy sighed and left the stall, the suit hanging limply from her left hand.

Two-and-a-half minutes later, she pulled open the door. Bebe, who was adjusting the strap on a turquoise tankini, gasped.

"Well?" Wendy spun, feeling ridiculous. "How's it look?"

Her friend was silent.

"That bad?" Wendy rolled her eyes. "See, I told y-"

"You're _gorgeous,_" Bebe breathed.

"Nah, it doesn't look _that_ good," Wendy said uneasily.

"Yes, it _does_," Bebe insisted, a vehemence in her voice Wendy had never heard before.

"Okay," she mumbled. Bebe blushed and turned back to the mirror.

"God, I'm sorry, Wendy. It's just- Red's party is next weekend, and I don't have anything to _wear_." She sighed. "I wish I had your figure."

"Jeez, Bebe, stop saying that. You're perfectly thin, and you know it."

"Then what's _this?!_" Bebe shrieked, seizing Wendy's wrist and placing it on her own waist. "I'm fatter than Cartman!"

Wendy pulled her hand away and grabbed her friend's shoulders instead. "Listen. Bebe. First, if you were _half_ that asshole's size, you wouldn't fit in this stall. And second..." She pushed Bebe back towards the mirror. "Look."

"At what? My ugly stomach?" Bebe complained, but she looked again anyway. "I see you, beautiful and thin, and then there's me, covered in lumps of hideous fat."

"Those are your _boobs_, Bebe."

Bebe grabbed Wendy's hand again and pressed it to her chest. "Feel! These aren't boobs, they're _fat_!"

_Oh man, this is awkward,_ Wendy thought, but she and Bebe were BFFs, after all, and BFFs make sacrifices. She gulped and tried not to move her fingers – how bad would that be, feeling up your best friend? – but Bebe didn't let go, squeezing Wendy's hand over the turquoise suit as if… as if she _wanted_ her to feel her up.

_Oh my God._

Was it normal for them to be standing like this – pressed up against each other in the tiny stall, Wendy's hand still cupping Bebe's breast? She couldn't tell what Bebe was thinking or even whether it was all her imagination; their bodies pulled closer together until Bebe's curves met Wendy's edges, and suddenly all Wendy could think about was circles, lines, secants and shapes, shopping and parties, purple and turquoise, red lip gloss, closer and closer, cherry pervading the air and her nose and her _mouth_, right there in the dressing-room stall, tangent to one another in a way no formula could express.

She aced the geometry test without studying.


	19. Shovel MoleGregory

A/N: Whoo, overdone, cliche French accents are fun.

(wow, I really don't have much to say this time, lol.)

Er. Reviews are appreciated (thanks so much for the input on the last chapter, guys) and requests are still welcome! C/K and Buttman are now in the lead (aww, two pairings I like a lot. I'm gonna have fun with these!)

disclaimer: Don't own it.

* * *

SHOVEL

_There's nothing like a fancy French restaurant to take one's mind off of troubles…_

"Oh, look, Christophe, they have bouillabaisse," mused Gregory, running his finger along the gilded edges of the menu. "And _pate de foie gras_."

"I've been 'ere before, ze food is terrible. And don't call me zat- _Chreestophe. _I am ze Mole, you know zat."

"Fine," sighed Gregory. "_Mole_, what would you like to eat?"

"You are not my mozzer," snapped Mole. He glared at Gregory, petting the head of his shovel almost lovingly.

"And that's another thing," said Gregory. "That shovel of yours. Must you take it everywhere? The waiters are staring-"

"I love my shovel. She 'as been wiz me seence I was born."

"You… love your shovel," Gregory repeated, amused. "It's an inanimate object."

"So? Does eet look like I care?"

"_Bonjour_," cut in the waiter, his accent fake and forced. "Orders?"

"Bouillabaisse for me," Gregory said. "My frie- _acquaintance_ here will have-"

"Nozzing."

"But you love French food-"

"_Good_ French food," said Mole, fishing around in his pocket for a cigarette.

"Chris- _Mole_, you can't smoke in here!" Gregory turned to the waiter. "I apologize for his inappropriate behavior. This is a very fine establishment-"

"Eet ees _not_!"

"-and the food sounds delicious," Gregory finished. The waiter looked confused.

"Er… bouillabaisse then?" he asked, his accent gone.

"You are too polite," complained Mole as the waiter left, the unlit cigarette flopping out of his mouth. "Eef ze food is bad, eet ees bad. Zat's ze problem wiz you Amereecans, you zugar-coat everyzing-"

"And _you_ coat everything in _dirt_." Gregory stared pointedly at the infernal shovel.

"Zat- zat _dirt_ is ze mark of hard work! Zat dirt ees ze sweat and blood of zousands who died fighting for zeir countries!" His eyes gleamed with a fierce pride – this was something Gregory could relate to.

He looked closely at the shovel, something he'd never bothered to do before. A mark on the metal caught his eye.

"What's this?"

"Zat… is ze bite of a guard dog. Remember ze Canadian-Amereecan war? Zey attacked me, zose guard dogs. Zey attacked me and killed me!" Gregory remembered, all right. It hadn't been a pretty sight – him watching from the safe forest while Mole died in Kyle Broflovski's arms, cheesy music making the moment so much more dramatic than it should've been.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I should have… helped you." They hadn't talked about it since the war; he hoped they were mature enough to look back and forgive each other.

The Mole was silent for a minute, then grumbled, "You don't 'ave to apologize. Wizout you, we could not 'ave won ze war."

Gregory blushed – something he'd sworn he'd never do – and looked around for a distraction.

"Here's your bouillabaisse, sir."

He looked at it, looked at Mole, and then picked up his spoon.

Five minutes later, Gregory, Mole, and Mole's shovel slid into a booth at a fast-food restaurant.

"Zee, what did I tell you?"


	20. Homicidal CartmanKyle

A/N: I thought it was time for something a little darker, so here you go. C/K's my OTP - if I haven't mentioned it enough times ;) - and I liked how this looked when I started, but I'm not so sure now. The ending? Ugh. Oh, and I'm upping the rating... don't know why it was K+ before... but now it's T, m'kay? Let me know if you think it needs to be M.

On another note... 200 reviews?! Wha...? :D Thank you all so much! I'm really having a lot of fun with these stories, and I hope you all are too. Just... wow. Thank you! Kiriban was caught this time by **911girl**, and she's getting a nice fluffy Bunny story. Even though I still haven't finished last time's kiriban... gah. Too much pressure! DX

I said at the beginning that I'd write at least 20 chapters. Here's the 20th... but there are still many more to come. :) Requests are welcome, feedback is very much appreciated, and Buttman and Cryde are in the lead.

Enjoy.

disclaimer: South Park isn't mine.

* * *

HOMICIDAL

Kyle wasn't safe.

He huddled under the covers, pressed up against the wall. The lights were off, the blinds pulled, but still. He wasn't safe. He wasn't safe at all.

Footsteps. Outside. Loud, heavy, thundering footsteps that shook Kyle's walls and rattled the Super Best Friends picture frame Stan had made him in fifth grade. He held his breath and flattened himself against the bed, frightened, praying. Without moving his arms, he slipped his hat off, letting it drop to the floor. The less color, the better.

Five minutes. Nothing. Not one more sound. Kyle sat back up against the wall, shaking. A hallucination. He was crazy. He was insane. He was paranoid.

He was disappointed.

Fake blood, creepy phone calls, death threats taped to his mirror and locker in scrawled horror-movie handwriting. Cartman wanted to kill him.

There was a flicker of something across the room. Kyle looked up. Red hair, scraggly, dirty, tangled, dull. Bloodshot eyes rimmed in deep purple-black. His reflection stared back, urging him to go to sleep.

Kyle hadn't slept in days. Unless you counted nodding off on the bus, in history, in English, five minutes of desperate bliss, only to get snapped awake each time by a frantic Stan and laughed at by a smirking Cartman.

Hidden comments, building anger, boiling and bubbling and nearing breaking point. Cartman wanted to kill him.

Knuckles rapped against the window, thick, heavy, meaty knuckles that drowned out the pounding of Kyle's heart. _Down, get down_ – it slid open and there was a flash of cold air and a whiff of clean snow and a weight pressing against his chest and _slam_.

"Wake up, Kyle."

He opened his eyes. Cartman grinned, his presence creaking the bedsprings and crushing Kyle's body.

"Time to die, Kyle."

He held his breath as Cartman slipped his hand into his pocket. This time it was small. This time it was shiny.

The razor blade gleamed.

"I stole this from your friend Stan."

"S-Stan doesn't cut," Kyle whispered, his eyes locked on the metal.

"You don't know him as well as you thought."

_Swish_, a neat, clean cut across Kyle's shin. One, two, three drops of blood. Cartman scooped them up with a finger.

"Jew blood."

Kyle laughed, a shaky laugh, and leaned forward. He knew what to do.

"Healing properties," he recited, and licked.

More slashes, up and down and crisscross all over his legs. More blood, trickling down his leg and pooling in the creases of the sheets. Kyle didn't wince once, not even after the cold, familiar sensation of rough wet lips against his own. He smiled.

Knife on his throat, gun to his head, the sizzle of flame on flesh. Cartman _wanted _him. It was a game they played, and Kyle was powerless to forfeit.

All he could do was hope he didn't lose.


End file.
